


Worst Pies in London

by Jammit_Sammy



Category: Sweeney Todd (2007), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dark fic, Multi, Murder, Murder Husbands, Not A Happy Ending, This is Such a Dark Fic, brief mention of rape, lots of gore, will add tags as needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 19:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13910568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jammit_Sammy/pseuds/Jammit_Sammy
Summary: Peter Hale was sent away from London long ago. He comes back to a place much changed but still familiar. One thing hasn't changed though. One thing will never change.





	Worst Pies in London

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of lines I took from the music, so all credit for the to Sondheim and his wonderful composition. What would we do without him??

Peter stood at the bow of the ship, listening to the boy, Scott, prattle on about his worldly travels. The boy had saved him, so he owed him a great debt, but he could not stand the incessant talking. He would be happy when he was free of the boy

  
“You know,” Peter said without preamble. “I too have sailed the world and seen its wonders. The cruelty of man is as wondrous as Peru.”

  
Scott looked at him in curiousity. “I have honored your request not to ask what brought you to that shipwreck, but I want you to know that if you need anything you can come to me.”

Peter nodded, turning back towards the water where the harbor was coming into view. Scott leaned on the boat beside him, sighing.

“There’s no place like London.”

Peter snorted his derision. “There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit. In that pit are the vermin of the world, with morals worth less than a pig could spit.

Peter smiled maliciously, "This place? It goes by the name of London. At the top of this hole sit a privileged few. These people mock and sneer at the people in the lower zoo. It's a place where beauty is turned to filth and greed. So yes, there’s no place like London.”

Scott looked bewildered. “Mr. Todd…”

Peter itched inside at the use of his pseudonym. “Forgive me Scott, for my mind is far from here. In these once familiar streets I feel shadows everywhere.”

“Shadows?” was the hesitant reply.

Looking off into the distance, remembering, Peter began to speak. “There was a barber and his wife, and that woman was beautiful. She was his reason and his life, with her beauty and virtue. But the barber was foolish, naïve. Another man wanted the Barber’s wife, seeing how beautiful she was. Not a man, but a vulture of the law! And with a gesture of his claw, he removed the barber from his position! Then his wife had nothing left but waiting, and she would spiral so hard and fast.”

Scott looked at Peter with pity. “Did the woman succumb to the vulturous man?”

A dark chuckle escaped the older man’s mouth. “It was so long ago, I doubt that anyone would know what happened to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment, but as they neared the docks, Peter looked to Scott. “Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life.”

Scott smiled dopily at peter, his crooked jaw making him look like a confused puppy.

“Again, if you need anything Mr. Todd,” Scott insisted.

Peter patted the boy’s hand. “It is here we go our separate ways. Farewell, Anthony, I will not soon forget the good ship Bountiful nor the young man who saved my life.”

With that, Peter departed. He had payed for his voyage in full, using the last of his worldly possessions, and now he had nothing. He was no one. And that was perfect, because no one kept a close eye on a nobody.

He would need to establish a place to stay and a job for himself, but before that he had somewhere to go. Someone to see.

                 *********

Peter walked into a rundown shop on Fleet Street, right beneath his old shop. The Woman who had worked here, Ms. Lovett, was nowhere to be seen. A young man who was no older than twenty years of age was working the front, rolling out tough looking dough.

  
“A customer!” He shouted.

  
Peter turned to leave, when he was stopped by a loud, “Wait! What’s your rush? What’s your hurry?”

  
The boy came around the counter, grabbing a hold of Peter’s hand and leading him all the way inside. “You gave me a mighty fright. I thought you was a ghost.”

  
The smile he flashed Peter had the man struck, and he found himself following with a dumbfounded look.

  
“Sit.”

  
When Peter took too long, the boy said again, “Sit.” And so Peter sat.

  
As the boy walked back around the counter, he mentioned that there hadn’t been a customer in weeks.

  
“Did you come in for a pie, sir?”

  
Peter didn’t respond, just continued to watch the busy body of a boy.

  
“What is this?” the shop owner muttered to himself, picking up a bug and dropping it to the ground so he could stomp on it.

  
When Stiles looked up he said, “You’d think we had the plague.”

  
And honestly, Peter couldn’t blame them. The place was badly lit, crawling with vermin, and the pies looked as if they had been sitting for longer than a few days. Never the less, a pie was brought to him and he accepted.

  
“Would you like a drop of ale?”

  
Peter didn’t respond, and that seemed to be fine with the boy, because he kept right on talking.

  
“No one even comes in to visit. But I can hardly blame them.” A rolling pin was waved around. “These are probably the worst pies in London.”

  
Stiles stopped, looking at Peter. “Look at me, losing my head. I’m-“

  
Peter cut him off. “Ms. Lovett’s son. The one she had with that constable.”

  
The boy grinned. “The one and only, Stiles Stilinski-Lovett. But everyone just calls me Stiles.”

  
Peter grunted in acknowledgement.

  
“Try it,” Stiles said.

  
He watched on eagerly as Peter took a bite.

  
“Isn’t that just disgusting? You have to concede, they’re the worst pies in London. Even that’s polite.” Stiles sighed, putting his rolling pin down. “Anyways. You obviously aren’t here for a pie.”

  
He cleared the plate from in front of Peter. “God, it looks like it’s molting.”

A small clatter as the plate is thrown behind the counter. “I know why no one ever comes to eat them. I mean, I should know, considering I make them.”

  
Stiles began cleaning up his area, pulling out more dough and kneading it. “It’s no surprise really. With the price of meat what it is.”

The rolling pin made another appearance, being waved wildly. “You know, Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop, successful as can be. But I noticed something weird, all of her neighbor’s cats have disappeared.”

  
Rolling the dough, Stiles huffed. “What a course.” A vicious roll. “Enterprise” He struck the dough hard. “Popping pussies into pies”

  
Stiles rolled the dough some more and laid it over a pie. “I understand, times are hard. But pussy cats are quick.”

  
Peter watched on as Stiles glazed a pie. “It’s all gritty and greasy. Gosh, it’s a wonder I’m still in business.”

  
Stiles leaned on the counter, chin in hand. “Oh sir, times is hard, a boy all alone. Yes, times is hard.”

  
Peter stood suddenly, “The place upstairs, who is in it?”

  
Stiles laughed, until he realized Peter was serious. “No one. Everyone thinks it’s haunted.”

  
Peter gave him a quizzical look.

  
“Tragic story. Truly proof of all that’s wrong in the world.” Stiles shook his head. “There was this barber and his wife. God, she was beautiful. But he was foolish. Thinking he could have her when another man wanted her. A more powerful man. Got sent away he did. Peter Hale, off on some ridiculous charge.”  
Stiles cleaned up, leaving the story at that. “Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

  
He led Peter up the stairs, into a large and empty space.

  
“What happened?” Peter asked eagerly.

  
“Hungry for a story aren’t we,” Stiles chuckled. “Anyways, that poor woman, with her daughter. She waited, falling into a despair. Eventually the Judge called on her. The Judge and Beadle.”

  
Stiles sat in the only chair in the room, taking off a pair of heels.

“They told her they were sorry, wanted to meet. But they weren’t sorry. Not even a bit. And they had their way with her. Poor thing. Everyone thought she must be daft to have accepted.”

  
“Did no one have mercy on her?” Peter shouted.

  
Stiles narrowed his eyes knowingly. “So it is you. Peter Hale.”

  
“Not Hale. Todd. Sweeney Todd.”

Stiles shrugged easily. "Potato, potato."

Peter looked at Stiles. "And what happened to my wife? Where is she?"

Stiles looked to the ground. "She just couldn't take it, poor thing. Got poison from the apothecary down the road. I tried to stop her, I did."

Peter collapsed to the ground. He had been waiting fifteen years to come back to his wife and child. Now his wife was dead and his child the ward of the man who sent him away.

**Author's Note:**

> Come harass me on tumblr @lyds-and-stiles


End file.
